


Driver's License

by cxllico



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), mcyt
Genre: Angst, Does Fundy Is Furry?, Heartbreak, Human Fundy, Im running out of tag ideas, M/M, Runaway Bride, all men do is lie, dont read if you dont want to cry, first fic on AO3, i love making myself cry, mention of dreamnotfound, tw possible death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-13 02:07:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28895586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cxllico/pseuds/cxllico
Summary: “I can’t keep being your second choice, dream.” “Not when you’re my first.”Fundy is a sucker for nightly drives through open fields leading nowhere in particular, revisiting memories he abandoned long ago in hopes of creating new ones with his to-be-wed fiancé, Dream.He finds himself lost in songs and the swaying of trees that reminded him of the silhouette of the man he had always dreamt of being, stood beside the love of his life who at the time, loved him too.— — —In which Fundy drives around the parts they used to frequent together after their marriage fell to shambles.Inspiration: Driver’s License by Olivia Rodrigo
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Floris | Fundy, Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Kudos: 30





	Driver's License

**Author's Note:**

> I’m assuming you either searched up Driver’s License or came from tiktok LMAO. I haven’t written a fanfic in years, so I might be a lil rusty. This took an entire lifetime to write, but I’m satisfied with how it turned out. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> TW : ANGST AND POSSIBLE MENTIONS OF SU!CUDE IN THE FUTURE

**Hiraeth** : A homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past.

—

The vibration of unread messages rang from his nightstand, alerting him of the life he had left behind in the rush of the moment.

Fundy knew how concerned they would be after the second week of no replies, but he couldn’t bother at the moment. He had no motivation to strike up a conversation that would likely end in another night of tears.

He was under his covers, wrapped in a warm blanket of self-wallowing as his phone’s blue light continued to flicker on and off from rapid notifications. He was sure Twitter had already caught light of the situation. The thought of indirect messages from both Dream’s and his fanbase gave him a mild migraine.

He figured he deserved this, eating stale chips and microwavable mac & cheese until his tastebuds grew numb and yearned for something else.

He rubbed the drowsiness from his eyes, an entire week of no sleep taking a toll on his mentality. Closing his eyes meant re-living memories and daydreams of what could’ve been. if that meant he couldn’t fall asleep, so be it.

He didn’t look at the time, didn’t even want to, he just assumed it was about to be dawn from the way the sun began to smother out the moonlight, rays of light peeking through his curtains in an attempt to reach out to him.

Fundy felt empty, the warmth from people surrounding him absent as he stared up at the ceiling fan, currently not in motion.

He didn’t know why he was acting so distant. He just knew every waking hour reminded him of Dream’s presence. Dirty blonde hair, scars that ran through pale skin from years of training, and dancing rays of pristine sunlight reflecting off toned arms. It pushed him past his limits.

After a couple more minutes of debating with his intrusive thoughts, he decided to get up, stumbling to his feet, which was paralyzed from maintaining the same position for an hour. He staggered to the bathroom, opting for a cold shower to rinse off the filth he had been laying in for the past day. Something to preoccupy his active mind.

He was bewildered by his reflection, astounded that his face was able to emulate the way he felt so perfectly. Desolate and despondent was the way his cheeks grew hollow, bags weighing on dull eyes and his skin, bleached and pale.

He resembled a zombie, his once vibrant clothes had worn out, achromatic from the relentless washing. It reminded him of his mother, who used to string towels across clotheslines early mornings before he woke, waiting patiently for them to dry.

He would be lying if he said he ever offered to help her. Even on miserable days where the heat burned holes into his skin, he hadn’t bothered to ask. 

He was a troublesome child, playing video games while his parents tended to him, and whining when something hadn’t gone his way.

Though he regretted it, he knew he hadn’t changed a bit since youth.

Fundy reached for the faucet, twisting it to a temperature of his liking and slightly wincing when the water came in contact with his hand.

He gnawed on the inside of his cheek irritably, deciding to just douse his face briskly with the icy water. At least it would wake him up.

After hastily rushing through his usual morning routine, he finished, drying his hands off with a nearby towel before dabbing dry the lingering droplets of water from his face and retreating from the tiny bathroom.

He scrambled around in the dark to find his keys, feeling more refreshed than he had earlier as he pulled on his usual black padded jacket rimmed with gold.

He had been repeating the same routine for weeks now, stuck in a loop of playing video games until the sunlight peeked through his windows, then deciding to go for an early morning car ride around town.

Something about being awake while the rest of the world stayed tucked in bed made him feel special.

He had been leaving the house more often. Feeling the breeze kept him from feeling numb, knowing time still ticks without his permission when he wished it didn’t.

The afternoon usually consisted of him back at his monitor’s screen, an occasional slip of browsing through Dream’s social media, but he did anything he could to avoid dozing off. Sometimes coding, exploring new texture packs in Minecraft, watching YouTube in an uncomfortable position as to not submit to the soft lulling of slumber.

It made him wonder if he was truly happy or just distracted.

Fundy slipped on his shoes, twisting the doorknob of his front door open and shutting it behind him as he approached his white painted vehicle. After unlocking the door, he slid into the driver’s seat, hitting his head against the roof with a grumble.

He checked his rearview and side mirrors when he got situated, feeling his heart drop when he pictured Dream sitting in the backseat, head against the side of the car as he dozed off peacefully.

This happened more frequently now. He would have hallucinations, seeing Dream in reflections of mirrors and the eyes of strangers.

Dream had the most beautiful eyes, an emerald green that shone in vibrance and hue. He made sure to tell him that every day.

Fundy felt his clutch on the steering wheel tighten. His head was starting to spin, nausea erupting from his throat as he swallowed thickly, deciding to back out of the driveway before he could think to retreat to the welcoming arms of his bed. His prison. He shook his head, blaming the symptoms on the lack of caffeine.

He reached for the radio, seeking a distraction as he skipped through multiple channels before pausing on the one he usually frequented. He waited patiently for the advertisements to play before a soft chiming began. He didn’t think he’d heard this song before. He turned up the volume when the car slowed to a standstill at the stoplight.

_ I got my driver’s license last week _

_ Just like we always talked about _

_ Cause you were so excited for me _

_ To finally drive up to your house _

Fundy’s eyes grew wide, the lyrics plunging into the dim crevices of his mind, the singer’s voice striking an off-key chord in his heart.

_ But today I drove through the suburbs _

_ Crying cause you weren’t around _

_ And you’re probably with that blonde girl _

_ Who always made me doubt _

He felt his stomach twist. Soft brown hair, golden skin on a sun tanned body, and voice akin to wax that dripped neatly down the sides of a candle overwhelmed his senses, the urge to vomit growing stronger with every word.

_ She’s so much older than me _

_ She’s everything I’m insecure about _

_ Yeah, today I drove through the suburbs _

He frantically switched the station, his shoulders easing when soft jazz began to play. He ran his fingers through coarse locks of hair, his heart rate palpitating as warmth flooded his face in embarrassment.

He was only pulled back to the present reality when a car horn sounded behind him, signaling that the light had turned green.

He pressed his foot against the pedal, causing the car to accelerate as he proceeded along the direction his GPS had pointed him towards.

Fundy wanted desperately to hit his head against something, anything.

Maybe if he did it hard enough, he’d inflict a concussion and forget anything dreadful had ever taken place. He could convert back to his usual carefree, gullible self.

He arrived at his destination after what appeared as an agonizing hour, his bones decaying the longer the drive stretched on.

He pushed the car door open, steadying himself with his leg as he slipped out, the breeze immediately pressing light kisses against his features.

The leaves held an alluring display of colors, varying from crimson to faded lemon. He observed as they swayed along with the current, free-spirited, and yet elegant.

He recognized a younger version of himself perched between the branches of an oak tree, laughing as he mocked a frustrated Wilbur who ushered for him to return home for supper.

He was seven by then. Ignorant and naïve to the impending years as he lived in the present.

Fundy tucked his hands into his pockets, starting along the paved path that coated itself in ranging palettes of leaves. Nothing had changed since he last visited.

The fountain had grown vines, decaying, and the water produced a musty color, but it still functioned. He recalled running his fingers through the pool of liquid every time he passed. His reasoning was that it made his skin tingle in an intriguing manner. He wasn’t certain if he wanted to investigate the theory in the current condition of the water.

The crunching of the leaves beneath his feet brought him to the next monument, an extensive playground. Nostalgia flooded his mind when he climbed the side slope, feet slipping when one of the stabilizers fell loose and tumbled to the ground.

In the frenzy of his mind, he’d forgotten he was an adult now, gaining enjoyment at the sight of a children’s playground.

He reached the surface, tucking in his limbs as he sat before the slide, cautious of his head that unquestionably would clash against the plastic.

It was less anticlimactic than he had called for, his weight slowing him down to where he had to manually inch himself down the slide.

He would look ludicrous to anyone that passed by.

Recovering from the embarrassment, he attempted to tackle the swings instead; the chains letting out a groan at the added weight. It hadn’t been oiled in years, the sound ear-splitting as he extended and retracted his legs.

He met Dream and Sapnap here. His first friends.

They would play tag together, stumbling over rough patches of mulch and competing in tournaments of ‘who could swing the highest?’ until the sun, itself, ushered for them to rush home.

Now he sat alone, the soil beneath him running dry as the chains he was clutching stained his hands with a faded charcoal color.

It was deplorable how his childhood was in front of him, yet it didn’t produce the same effect it had years back.

He realized then that he didn’t grow too old for his past, he just matured alongside it.

He was but a passenger on a train ride home to his childhood, a strong aching to return to a simpler time where he knew nothing but love and adoration.

If only he could be so oblivious again, mistaking love for laughter in a world filled with resentment and chance.

The creaks from the metal drilled holes into Fundy’s sanity, who eventually decided to dismount the swing, creating friction with his boots that dug into the parched soil.

With the only source of ambience gone, aside from the rare whistles of passing birds overhead, he found himself encased in an overwhelming wave of solitude. Thoughts of his friends and family members that must be worried sick from the absence of replies flooding his mind. It made him feel pathetic, knowing he resembled a spoiled child on a tantrum.

Even so, he knew himself well enough to know that he would only think, not act. It was just how he was.

He required a break from himself and the chaos that surrounded him. A moment in the midst of war to dive into the question of who he truly was.

Though revolution waits for no man. He overheard that quote from one of his uncles once. An independent, blood-hungry man. It was safe to say he never inherited those traits, himself.

Fundy mindlessly wandered over to a picnic table set beneath a broad oak tree, the vivid display of leaves blanketing the surface of the bench from years of abandonment. A lake occupied the surroundings, adding a stroke of tranquility to the scenery. It trailed past a bridge in the far distance, carrying stray leaves along with it as it rippled at the slightest gust of wind. It was beautiful; he found himself mesmerized by the hues and undertones of everything in his line of sight.

He swept away the heap of leaves, unearthing the surface of the table. the once maroon paint had been splintered and deteriorated into its initial hue, a faint cream.

He paid no mind to the minuscule creatures that may have inhabited the bench, swinging his legs over the wood and praying it would maintain as he sat, satisfied when it held still.

He recalled sitting in this position years back, plates of food displayed in his vision as his mother watched him scarf it down, content her son appreciated her cooking as much as she did preparing it.

He remembered her coral peach locks that would wave in the wind, and Wilbur’s beam of adoration whenever he caught sight of her.

His admiration that disintegrated into wails of despair when she left. How he changed.

Fundy shuddered, the temperature abruptly dropping as he grasped his arms. He was suddenly immersed in a blanket of longing and sentimentality, the whistling of the current soothing him into a deep slumber.

He didn’t realize when his eyelids began to droop from weeks of no sleep, he just remembered falling and falling until he couldn’t endure it any longer.

And he woke up in the middle of a road.


End file.
